


Volant

by whimsicality



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M, Smut, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicality/pseuds/whimsicality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Volant - Moving lightly, nimble, engaged in or having the power of flight. Alternate ending to 3x6, Scott Free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Volant

Scott doesn't look so much like a baby when he's on his knees with his lips wrapped around Neal's cock. Somehow, the conversation in which Neal was supposed to convince Scott to play it safe, slow it down, had turned into Scott talking Neal out of his pants. Maybe Peter had been right, maybe Scott really was like a young Neal: too charming for his own good and entirely too good with his mouth.

Those baby blues, paler and greyer than his own, are staring up at him, a smirk hiding behind long lashes and Neal groans as a talented tongue dances a figure eight on his sensitive skin. A thief, a conman, a cocky young criminal, and a seducer of older men. Oh yes, Scott Rivers could have been him, fifteen years ago, and this is one bad decision Neal is incapable of resisting.

There's a scrape of teeth and then cold air and suddenly Scott's in his face, swollen lips claiming his own in a heated kiss that's half battle, half sex and Neal takes a step backwards towards his bed.

Scott trails kisses up his jaw and then whispers in his ear. "Still want to see me in cuffs?"

Neal's hands falter in their removal of Scott's pants and the younger man chuckles roughly, then loses his pants and pushes Neal onto the bed in one swift movement that has Neal re-estimating Scott's gracefulness. After that, even Neal's always calculating neurons take a backseat to sensation. Grasping fingers, scraping teeth, and messy kisses lead to the kind of desperate, deliciously frantic fucking that Neal hasn't enjoyed since before Kate.

Afterwards, Neal watches Scott sleep, sprawled inelegantly across the bed, and clenches his fist against the urge to draw the tousled hair and utterly relaxed muscles. This is crazy, and it can't last, not while he has an anklet reporting his every move and Scott burns with the fierce urge to go, steal, _live_ , that Neal himself has never lost, merely learned to control.

Neal glances down at the piece of metal resting against his anklebone and feels that burn flare a little brighter. Looking back over at Scott, he slides a hand into those sweat-curled locks and tugs, then gives a teeth baring grin as those lashes flutter open. "Time for round three, Mr. Hoodie, and then you and I are going to have another talk," he purrs, and feels another band of self-control snap as a pink tongue curls alluringly in his direction.

Scott might have the talent and audacity of a young Neal, but the older Neal, that was a truly dangerous creature, and together... well, the world was definitely not prepared for the outcome of that liaison. And oh would it be fun to explore the possibilities.


End file.
